There was really no need to dignify his comment about Derby with a response. It was pure speculation; there was a twinge of jealousy in Tad's voice, an acid barb-- which made Bif wonder if Tad was aware that he was in fact Derby's entertainment.
As opposed to anything more serious.
Maybe he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Bif. That was always an amusing thought.
He accepted his drink-- at least this plae knew a proper Scotch-- and took a sip before saying anything. A nasty smakile had formed across his lips-- Tad was just the same as he'd been in high school-- the little dog with plenty of bark and not much bite, always having to talk himself up and others down to assert his own place in the schoolyard-- and Harrington House.
"Perhaps," he said in a low, calm voice, "There is the notion that some of us have moved on from high school." He took another sip of his drink and placed the glass on the table. His eyes and facial movements betrayed niothing, but under the table, he was tapping one foot surreptitiously. Of course Tad quite obviously hadn't moved on from high school. But the memories flooding him, and the growing desire to wrench Tad up by the collar and lay into him like he was a punching bag-- were giving him cause to realise that maybe high school was still much closer than he cared to admit.
And then there was the mention of Derby. Torn between feeling loyalty for him, and anger, Bif finally asked, "And what, may I ask-- are you implying about our Derby?"